no rest for the weary
by psychobabblers
Summary: There's a sudden crime spree, and even Superman is run ragged trying to stem the tide. But first Bruce and Clark take a moment for themselves. Superman/Batman


_A/N: This story came into being when I wanted to write a kiss. As always, crossposted to Ao3_

* * *

Clark Kent was exhausted. He'd been forced to stay late at work to finish an article by the deadline, because he hadn't had a chance to work on it at all. There had been a sudden surge in crime, not just in Metropolis, but all over the world. Everywhere he went, at any time of the time, Clark could hear the cries for Superman, pleading for him to appear and save them. Clark could hardly ignore them. Petty crime, horrifying crimes, Superman tried to help anyone who asked. No one deserved to live in fear. But now that the article had been submitted, his sheer exhaustion drowned out everything else, and all he wanted to do was collapse onto his bed and sleep for the rest of the week.

Unfortunately, that wasn't an option. Clark glared at the suit neatly laid out on his bed. He knew that Bruce knew he was run ragged. He was the same. Bruce Wayne had all but vanished from the tabloids as Batman grimly tried to stem the flood of crime that was rising in Gotham. There were rumors of murder and kidnapping swirling around high society.

"Time to prove them wrong," Bruce had laughed humorlessly as he briefed Clark on the plan. His eyes had been bloodshot, and his beard unkempt. It'd felt scratchy on his skin when he'd briefly kissed him good bye.

Clark felt a twinge of guilt at his annoyance that he had to be present at the party. It quickly turned to worry. He might be superhuman, but Bruce was not. The exhaustion had to be taking an even worse toll on Bruce's body. Clark glanced back at the suit and sighed. The faster they figured out whatever was causing the crime rates to shoot up the sooner they could both get some rest.

* * *

The noise of the party reached Clark long before Wayne Manor came into view, and he wasn't even using his superhearing. He wondered if Bruce ever got complaints from his neighbors—if you could call them neighbors when their houses were far beyond sight from the Manor.

He touched down on the balcony of Bruce's room. Surprisingly, Bruce was curled up on top of the bed, snoring softly. Clark studied him for a moment, taking in his familiar features not quite relaxed even in sleep. The sleeplessness must be taking more of a toll on Bruce than he'd thought. The urge to just let him sleep swept over him briefly, and then he shook it off. It was Bruce's choice that he deal with this problem, just as it was Clark's choice that he put on the suit and flew to Wayne Manor to party when he'd a thousand times would rather be resting, and Clark had no right to take it from him.

But that didn't mean he didn't wish he could just snuggle in behind Bruce, wrap his arms around him, and fall asleep breathing his scent, surrounded by his comforting presence.

"Bruce," he said softly, touching his shoulder gently. Bruce's eyes opened, immediately registered Clark, and relaxed. A sleepy smile banished for a moment the stress that had clouded his features even in sleep.

Then he focused on what Clark was wearing, and sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sorry," he muttered. "Accidentally fell asleep."

"Your suit is rumpled," Clark said, grinning. "And your hair is sticking up."

"Ah, hell," Bruce said, looking down at himself. The grandfather clock chimed and he sighed. "No time to change, we're already past fashionably late. And I suppose no one will be that surprised that Bruce Wayne shows up like he just rolled out of bed, hot boy toy in tow." Clark felt himself grow hot as Bruce winked at him and slowly looked him up and down like he wanted to rip the suit off Clark's body and lick him. Which probably was pretty close to what he was thinking, as it had happened before.

He moved to open the door and found Bruce blocking it. The humor and lust had vanished from his face and all that remained was tired eyes searching. Clark didn't know for what, but when he cupped Bruce's cheek with one hand and leaned in to kiss him, Bruce sighed like he'd done something beyond amazing. Clark ran his free hand through Bruce's hair, probably making it even messier, but he didn't care, he needed to feel the softness in his fingers. He tightened his grip when Bruce suddenly flicked his tongue out and deepened the kiss. He'd put his arms around Clark's waist at some point, not moving them really, just holding him. Clark moved his tongue against Bruce's and then pressed gently on, licking into Bruce's mouth. He loosened his grasp on Bruce's hair and went back to stroking, and Bruce's arms tightened around him.

There was nothing in his head except Bruce, kissing Bruce, no sound in the world, except their quiet breaths. Everyone in the world might need Superman, But Bruce, _Bruce_—he needed Clark Kent.

Finally, Bruce broke off the kiss and rested his head on Clark's chest, ear pressed to him, listening to his heartbeat. Clark rested his head on Bruce's head, enjoying this rare moment when they could be alone with each other and just…let go. They stood like that for a little, as somewhere in the Manor, ladies in beautiful dresses, glittering with diamonds, danced and laughed and gossiped with men in immaculate suits, as if all the world was alright and no monsters ever hid in the dark.

Bruce straightened and there was determination burning in his eyes. Clark caught his eye and smiled. "Let's go catch some criminals," Bruce said, and this time his voice was all Batman.


End file.
